Storm Surge: A Fast Paced International Adventure Thriller (Storm Thriller Series Book 3)

by Steven Becker

  Mako guided Saba toward the waiting car. Once they were in, she asked the driver to take them to Vatican City.

  62

  Vatican City

  “Looking good, Sister,” Mako couldn’t help himself.

  Saba smacked his thigh, glancing in the rearview mirror to see if the driver was watching, which, of course, he was. Looking at Mako, she opened her eyes wide and slid them toward the driver. Mako understood the gesture and settled back into his seat.

  His relief after hearing that his father and Faith were all right was palpable, added to that the elimination of Burga and Longino, and he was giddy. Maldonado still remained, though, and that thought brought him back to earth.

  “It’ll be easy enough to get in, but then what?” Mako asked.

  “I’m working on that. The clothes should allow us entry to most of the areas, but the individual buildings are secure.”

  “We want to corner him like a rat. If he’s out in public, he can use his position against us.” Mako was confident there was enough security present that the cry of a bishop would be instantly heeded.

  “You’re right about that. The best we can do for now is to get close. We’ll find a way in.”

  It sounded all too much like one of his plans. Mako looked down at the Tiber as they crossed a bridge. With the Interpol driver searching for any scraps of information he could gather, Mako decided to text Alicia instead of call.

  He was relieved to hear that TJ, barring some scarring, was going to make a complete recovery. Then the telltale dots appeared in a bubble, telling him that Alicia was typing something. While he waited, he realized that the injuries to TJ and the loss of the boat could be laid at his feet. Or, glancing at the green-eyed woman sitting next to him, her’s. The revelation steeled him to recover the journal and complete the contract.

  “Maldonado is not going to give up the journal without a fight,” Saba said. “We should be ready.”

  Mako thought it might not be a bad idea to deviate a little from his usual lack of planning and figure out how to deal with the bishop before they met him. “For a guarantee of protection, he might. He’s got to know he’s hit the glass ceiling in the Church. Some of this is going to get out. Maybe we can craft it and turn him into an ally.”

  “We can’t let the Church slither out of this unscathed. It’d be too easy to cover for them by glossing over Longino’s involvement, saying that the Mafia were the ones who replaced the paintings with forgeries.” She stared out the window.

  “Easy is good,” Mako said.

  “They have to pay for what they’ve done.”

  Mako wanted to look in her eyes and see where she was coming from, but she remained facing away. He’d sensed before that she had an ulterior motive with Maldonado. He expected that possession of the journal would end this for him, but not for her. The problem was he didn’t know how to achieve his goal and make Saba happy.

  A few minutes later, before Mako had made a decision, the driver pulled to the side of the street. After crossing the river on Ponte Vittorio Emanuel II, the driver had taken a left. Ahead was the Egyptian obelisk planted in the center of St. Peter’s Square.

  “It’ll be easier on foot from here,” the driver said.

  Stepping out of the car, Mako and Saba started to walk toward the square, which was actually in the shape of an ellipse. Before they reached the square itself, Saba moved to the outside of the northern colonnades, and turned right into a narrow alley between two long rectangular buildings. Passing underneath a narrow walkway, they reached the front of the half-round entrance to the Institute of Works for Religion, otherwise known as the Vatican bank.

  The lobby was accessible to the public, but Saba steered Mako toward the side of the building.

  “You know your way around pretty well,” Mako said.

  Saba didn’t reply.

  Mako left it at that. Whatever local knowledge she had was to their advantage. He had already noticed several groups of uniformed Swiss Guards, and knew there were countless other plain clothes security teams as well.

  “Act natural,” Saba whispered as they approached the side door.

  Mako could see the security keypad to the side. They would not be able to get in without a code or badge. “Now what?”

  “Be patient. This is where blending in with the locals will pay off.”

  No sooner had she said it than the door opened. Saba stepped quickly toward it, holding it open for the older priest to exit. He nodded to them, and moved away.

  “See.”

  Mako wasn’t about to give her accolades for getting in a door, but they were inside now. “I suppose you know where his office is?”

  Saba didn’t answer. She started down the corridor, stopping at an ornate door near the end. The name on the small brass sign to the side said: The Most Revered Bishop Albert Maldonado. “Okay, you’ve gotten us this far.”

  Saba turned the handle and entered the waiting room. Mako walked in behind her. Antique furniture was set on an oriental rug, covering most of a highly polished stone floor. At a small desk near a pair of wooden doors sat a very attractive woman.

  “Father, Sister, can I help you?”

  “Thank you. We are here to see the bishop.”

  “May I ask if you have an appointment?”

  “Please tell him that Sister Saba is here.”

  The woman turned, gave her a strange look, and picked up the handset of an old-style phone. She depressed one of the keys and waited. Mako’s heart was in his stomach. Despite the disguise, he felt naked. Fearing metal detectors, they had come unarmed. Maldonado’s response to the call would dictate how this went.

  “The bishop will be happy to see you.”

  Just as she finished, the right-hand door opened. Maldonado stood in the doorway, gesturing Mako and Saba inside. “Please hold my calls.” He closed the door behind them and quickly went to his desk.

  “Nice outfits.” He sat down, reached into a drawer, and pulled out a pistol. “Just to make sure everyone plays nice.”

  To this point, things had gone much better than Mako would have guessed. They had gained access to the bishop’s office without any trouble, but the cold steel in the prelate’s hand told him it might not remain that way.

  “You have the journal?” Mako asked.

  Maldonado, keeping his right hand on the pistol, used his left to open another drawer in his desk. He withdrew a manila envelope, from which he unceremoniously dumped Caravaggio’s journal on his desk. “The old boy’s as much trouble dead as he was alive.”

  “What do you intend to do with it?” Mako asked. Wondering why he was doing all the talking, he glanced over at Saba. Her focus was on Maldonado, not the journal. “May I?”

  Maldonado nodded.

  Mako picked up the old book and flipped through a few pages. He’d handled it enough to know it was authentic. Setting it back down on the desk, he looked at the bishop, waiting for an answer to his question. Instead, Maldonado waved the gun in his direction, motioning them to move away from the desk.

  Mako and Saba stepped back as the bishop rose. He picked up the journal and moved to a painting that Mako thought looked eerily like a Caravaggio, since now that he had seen a few he recognized the painter’s style. Swinging the painting forward on a concealed hinge, it silently moved away from the wall, revealing a safe. Maldonado pressed his thumb on an illuminated pad, and the safe door opened. With a smug look on his face, Maldonado placed the journal inside, and before Mako could react, started to close the door.

  Saba was more alert, and lunged forward. Maldonado lost his balance. Reaching out to regain his footing, his gun hand smashed into a side table, upending it in the process. The sound of glass breaking reverberated off the stone floor as a vase containing some fresh-cut flowers shattered. A second later they could hear the bishop’s secretary ask if everything was alright.

  Saba had the pistol trained on him before Maldonado had climbed to his knees. With the weapon pointe
d at his head, she nodded toward the door.

  A pregnant pause followed, finally broken as Maldonado called out that he was all right. Mako stared at the pair, who’s eyes were locked onto each other. Glancing back to the safe, Mako reached for the journal.

  “Go ahead, take it. If it goes public, the forgery in the Church of Saint Lucia has been replaced. There is nothing there to harm us,” Maldonado said.

  “Then we’ll need something else,” Saba said. “Let’s take a walk over to the Sistine Chapel, shall we?”

  “I’m good here,” Mako said, grasping the journal.

  “Not so fast. You can have it when I’m done with him, but until then, we’re together,” Saba said. The barrel of the pistol reinforced her order.

  One glance at her told Mako she was not going to be talked down from this ledge. To him, it was a suicide mission to try to escort the bishop across St. Peter’s Square, enter the Sistine Chapel, and make it to the basement without alerting security. Glancing from the gun to her face, he saw the look of a martyr. “Okay.” Mako raised his hands, but not before sliding the journal into a large pocket in his jacket.

  “Not so fast.” Saba held out her hand. “You can have it when we’re finished here.” She waited while Mako handed the journal to her, then slipped it into her bag. “Bishop, you first. Mako on the other side.” Saba moved toward the double doors. “Go ahead.”

  Maldonado walked out of the office first. “There’s been a bit of an accident, can you have someone clean it up?” he asked the secretary. “We’ll be back shortly.”

  With Maldonado slightly in front, Mako and Saba walked side by side down the corridor. They reached the exit door without incident, and were soon outside. To Mako’s surprise, Maldonado headed into a courtyard, avoiding the square. He moved swiftly, almost as if he had a purpose.

  They walked through another building and entered an enclosed courtyard containing several sculptures that had been converted to a parking lot. Passing through, they ended up at a discreet-looking door with two Swiss Guards standing beside it. One nodded to Maldonado, who returned the gesture. Mako was surprised when the uniformed guard opened the door. If the bishop was to sound an alarm, this would have been the time. Instead, it felt like he was playing along with Saba. They found themselves in a small room with an elevator. The cab was waiting, and Maldonado stepped in with Saba and Mako behind him.

  Dropping several floors, the doors opened onto a subterranean warehouse.

  They passed another guard, and entered the rows of heavy shelving. Some areas were glass-enclosed, others open. Mako followed Maldonado toward the rear, where he stepped into a side aisle and spread out his hands.

  “I’m assuming this is what you wanted to see?”

  Instead of looking around, Saba took out her phone and started to take a video. “Why don’t you give us a tour?”

  Her request startled Maldonado, who had expected a different kind of confrontation. Pausing for a long second, he held out his hands. “What is it you want to see so badly?”

  “Your collection of counterfeit art,” Saba said, calmly.

  She had the bishop cornered now, and he knew it. Instead of just wanting to see, or even take some form of proof that the Church had been swapping out the classics with forgeries, she was going to record it. The damage that a video, showing the collection in the basement of the hallowed cathedral, could do would be devastating.

  Maldonado slowly moved toward a long cylinder similar to the one they had seen him with at the Church of Santa Lucia. Removing it from the rack, he feinted like he was going to dislodge the end and extract the painting. Instead, he wound up like a batter, and swung the six-foot-long tube at Saba.

  She was caught off-guard and ducked. Maldonado had swung with enough force to knock an entire rack full of art to the floor.

  “I don’t know what you’re aiming for here, but can we go now?” Mako asked.

  Footsteps could be heard running toward them as the dust settled. Saba pulled Mako into the next row, shielding them as two of the Swiss Guards ran past. The swing had taken Maldonado to the ground, and he brushed off the guards’ attempts to help him, telling them instead that the priest and nun who had accompanied him needed to be detained.

  Saba was looking around the corner, holding her phone in front of her, recording the entire scene.

  “You going to video them shooting you? We’re in a freakin’ sovereign country here. They can do what they want to us.”

  “I’ve got just about enough,” she said, panning the phone around the shelves. “One more thing and we’re out of here.”

  Mako recognized more of the names on the labels of the tubes and boxes than he wanted to admit. “Can we move this along?” He watched Saba as she browsed the lower shelf of one of the racks.

  The sound of footsteps could be heard running toward them. Maldonado’s voice rose above the commotion as he directed the search. Mako looked for another way out besides the elevator. “There!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the aisle toward a steel door. “Stairs.”

  “Wait.” Saba shrugged off his hand, continuing to scan the contents of the shelf in front of them.

  Mako peered around the corner. “We don’t have time for a shopping trip.”

  Saba continued her search, finally selecting a small box. Mako, who had been peering over her shoulder, was distracted and failed to see the label on the box. Hearing footsteps approaching, he moved immediately toward the stairs, fifty feet away. Glancing behind him, he saw their pursuers were gaining. It was going to be close. Accelerating, he grabbed hold of the end shelving unit, pushed it to the ground, and slid around the corner. Twenty feet.

  A glance back showed Saba as she reached down and picked up a three-foot-long tube from the ground. She was moving toward him with the tube tucked under her arm.

  They reached the stairs. Mako’s hand was on the doorknob when it pushed open, knocking him backwards into Saba. A second later, as they struggled to their feet, they found themselves staring into the barrels of a half-dozen guns. Several more men joined the circle, which parted as Bishop Maldonado stepped into the center.

  “What are we to do with you?” His question was directed at Saba.

  “My people know where I am. Sovereign nation or not, we need to walk out of here.”

  “I have no intention of hurting you, though your boyfriend is a little more expendable.” Maldonado’s gaze flashed at Mako. He held out his hand.

  Saba handed him the tube.

  “Nice try. The journal.”

  Saba reached into her bag and extracted Caravaggio’s journal.

  There was something in the way she acted that made Mako glance at her. Even with the guns held on them, she was being uncharacteristically cooperative. The look he got in return was not what he expected. Her eyes told him they weren’t defeated. Yet.

  Live to fight another day was more than a practical mantra. This battle might have been lost, but there was something about Saba’s expression that told him they might still win the war.

  Maldonado signaled for the guards to lower their weapons. “Before I provide you an escort to the gates, I’ll need your phones.”

  Mako had hoped the bishop would have forgotten the video that Saba had recorded. Saba reached into her purse, pulled out hers, and handed it to the bishop. Again, Mako got the feeling that she wasn’t done.

  “Might be a good idea to let me call my driver first.”

  Maldonado returned her phone. “No tricks. He can meet you at the Castel Sant’Angelo.”

  If there was some kind of hidden signal in her conversation, Mako couldn’t discern it. Saba disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Maldonado.

  He turned to one of his men. “Take them out on the Passetto di Borgo.”

  Mako remembered the route from their visit with Juliet. The half-mile walkway connected the fortress with the Vatican. It was a not-so-secret, secret, but an easy way to get Mako and Saba out of the Holy See w
ithout being seen.

  Exiting the dimly lit Sistine Chapel, Mako squinted into the sunlight. He still had no idea what Saba was up to, and for the time being was happy enough being escorted, alive and uninjured, from Vatican City. Once across the border, he would have more options.

  They were led into one of the buildings they had passed through earlier, up a short flight of stairs, and into the passageway.

  The walkway that several popes had used to flee invading or mutinous armies felt like a walk of shame to Mako. The journal was gone, as was any chance of vengeance against Maldonado. As long as he remained inside the walls of the Vatican, there was little that could be done.

  About three-quarters of the way to Castel Sant’Angelo, their escort suddenly stopped. Mako and Saba sensed they were free and started a slow jog, then an all-out sprint to the doors ahead. Barging in, they found themselves inside the cylindrical structure.

  Saba had a smug look on her face. “You look like you won,” Mako panted. “He’s got the journal and your phone.”

  “The video is in the cloud, and.…“ She reached into her bag and pulled out the box she had taken from the bottom shelf. She handed it to him.

  Counterfeits and forgeries made Mako’s head spin as he took it from her and saw the label: Caravaggio. Something about the feel of it told him this was the original journal.

  “How did you know?”

  “Let’s get out of here first. I can still feel his slimy eyes on me.” Saba started toward the double doors leading to freedom.

  Epilogue

  Key Largo, Florida

  Sitting around the war room Mako, Saba, John, and Faith watched the monitors on the large wall. Most were set to different news stations, but the theme was the same: art.

  Bishop Maldonado had been confronted and arrested while trying to authenticate the Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence using the forged journal. He was currently in jail.

  “You need a journal to keep the journals straight,” Mako said. Caravaggio himself would have been proud of the bishop’s ploy. After “proving” the journal was authentic by confirming the Burial of Santa Lucia as the original, Maldonado had moved on to his real play.